The Fine Line Of Evil
by DeadlyMisfit
Summary: Is it possible to love a monster? To lust after a demon? To trust the devil? Draco Malfoy is commanly known under most of those names. Does this make him as unloveable as he is told? Can someone so far gone be loved? Warning: BoyxBoy, Gay love, Drarry. Rated M, for smut which is inevitable. There will be swearing and violence. Maybe gore. Reviews are welcome.
1. NoteBeforehand

**This is merely a simple note beforehand. The point of this, is to inform you of the basics of how I work as a writer, and to set the scene a little.**

Here is all I have to say.

I doubt this will be read, let alone review. But, if it is reviewed, I will do what I do on other sites: dedications. If a review is particularly good, or if there is just a little thing I like, I will mention it in a short note on each chapter. It is just what I do: I want you guys to think of me as a person, not some distant author you can't speak to.

Is that weird? Yes.

Do I care? No.

Now, I will just set the scene a bit.

* * *

Who in this world decides what a monster is? It seems, in every aspect of life, we are told who the bad guys are. The villain in the bedtime story, the monster under our bed, the bully in school.

Who chooses? Who decides, that a person or a creature is low enough to be damnable?

Do they choose it? Think, how life could be different under circumtances.

If the bully had been shown love as a child, instead of hit or abused, maybe he would be a better person.

If the monster under your bed hadn't spent his whole life being isolated, as little children ran away screaming, maybe he wouldn't have grown up hating the world.

Things are not always as they seem.

Monsters are never born, they are created.


	2. Chapter One

Memories

* * *

Draco Malfoy awoke, a petulant cry wailing through the air. It was the eve of his 6th birthday, and the nightmare he had moments before still bit sharply in the corner of his mind. The monster, with six, slimy legs, and his daddy's face.

He clapped two hands over his mouth, but it wasn't enough. He heard the angry voices: the shrill, distressed one of his mother, and the thunderous tone of his father. He lay back down, pulling his cover over his head, pretending to be asleep, knowing it would be useless as his door slammed open, and the cold attacked his skin. His father ripped the cover off, seething, yelling.

The blow came before he could mentally prepare himself for it.

It's strange, what goes on behind locked doors.

* * *

When Draco was nine, he had gone to a muggle school for a short burst of time. This was because he father was travelling, and his mother had fallen gravely ill.

Over the short, two-week period, he made a friend: a shy girl, by the name of Lilac.

Lilac was the polar opposite of him, looks and personality.

For the way his white-blond hair shined, her ebony locks seemed to attract shadows. As his grey, predatory, narrowed eyes swept the class, her light brown eyes merely rested dreamily on no fixed point. When he glared, dripping with scorn, she smiled sweetly.

Draco was quickly isolated: his proud, cocky demeanour and arrogant smile, not to mention scathing insults when he was approached, quickly made him deemed cold and distant.

Sometimes, when he saw the other children playing, he wished nothing more but to smile and laugh: to be accepted, included. Then, he would remember his father's strict instructions in the letter.

~They are beneath you, son. Don't pity the muggles, they are a plague to be...

The letter had continued several pages. So, every time his control wavered, he remembered the harsh words: and his guard was up again. He would glare at the curious yet welcome glances, and they would fear him again.

He took to staying in the library: a place deemed far too uncool for anyone. Anyone, except Lilac, that is. The girl was dreamy, shy, loving and accepting girl. There seemed not a bad bone in her body.

This got her no-where, as the other children in the class teased her mercilessly: tugging her plaits and stealing her lunch.

The observations only confirmed to Draco what his father told him every night: muggles are like animals. They are vermin.

One day, as he sat alone, she approached. He glared, and spoke harshly to her, but she only smiled.

"You look sad, Draco. Sad, and lonely. Sometimes, I wonder, if that is only because no-one has tried to love you "

His father found out about their short friendship, when he returned. Draco was being home-schooled once again, when he found a newspaper on their table.

On the front, was a large picture of Lilac, with the caption ~MISSING~

The girl was never found.

* * *

Draco never had bedtime stories. As a child, his dad would sit by his bed, and merely talk to him. One night is still in his memories, even now.

His father had babbled for some time. Then, he suddenly stopped, and narrowed his eyes.

"I love you, son," he said, gruffly, "even if it doesn't seem it. I really do. I only treat you badly, because I need to prepare you for the world. The world isn't fair, son. All you can ever have left is pride. Don't let the world drag you down into the mud."

That was the night Draco began to believe everything his father said. The raw emotion in his voice, the way he said it, it simply had to be true.

* * *

And, thus, a monster was 'born'.


	3. Chapter Two

**Dedications**

**It was a very pleasant surprise, actually, to find myself receiving two reviews and six follows not a day after I published this. While I am still getting to grips with this site, and I don't know how the dynamics work, while, to others, that may not seem much, to me it is of extreme value.**

**I would like to thank those six people, as I know they are going to read this. I would also like to thank both PyroFyre1214, for your belief in me. Also, special thanks to 4chan606, as you gave a detailed review, which I intend to use to help me improve.**

**I am grateful you raised the topic of chapter length, as it was something I was unaware of. On most other sites I have written for, I have liked to keep chapters short, as I feel too much information can be a bit overwhelming. Now I know it works differently on here, I intend to change my chapter length.**

**If anyone does see little detail like that, please don't hesitate to say. I love to hear how I can improve, even in the smallest ways.**

**Thanks to everyone who followed, the four reviews and the one favourite. It means a lot to me. **

* * *

_The Start Of The War~Isolation_

Draco Malfoy led a very interesting life through his school years. Sometimes pitied, sometimes envied. For, while he lived in the elegant lap of luxury, fitting in the noble criteria of pureblood, he was often isolated beyond belief. While he was often known as the bad guy, people commonly forgot that he actually didn't have many friends. Think if you will, who was he seen most with? Crabbe and Goyle.

Do they look like people you would trust?

That was why Draco Malfoy was often seen as the bad one; he had to grow up fast. While his mother was too ensnared in his father's charms to protect him, he was often left at the man's cruel mercy. Always on edge, in his own home, a place where he was meant to feel safe and protected.

With no-one to depend on, he soon grew to believe he could trust no-one. He had to hurt others to protect himself, to look down on others to save his pride. In no way was some of the things he did right, but please, try to think about _why_ he did them.

He was scared and alone.

* * *

_Youth~Questions Of Sexuality._

Draco didn't quite know when he realized he didn't like girls. Maybe it was when he was in his third year, around the age of 13 or 14. The other boys in his classes had mind's similar to gutters, taking crudely about girls, how they looked or what they would do if they could. Draco would often sneer at them, repulsed by the vile things they said.

He also noticed, he didn't find girls at all attractive. Over the years he was at Hogwarts, the girls all began to develop wide hips and breasts, losing any child-like puppy fat they had, turning into women. However, that never seemed to interest Draco, even though he never admitted it (at least, not then). The curves of their waists, the different face shapes, everything about them and the way they looked just did nothing for him.

The most memorable experience, prehaps the first time he truly began to question himself, was in his 5th year. He was in the changing rooms, getting back into his robes when he heard the shower running. He had frozen, just for a second, as he believed he was alone. Then, cautiously, he quietly walked to the next room, staying out of sight, to see who it was.

Blaise Zabini was showering, his back to Draco. Draco could see the strong muscles over his shoulder blades and back, tensing and relaxing as the hot water hit them. He was a well-developed boy for his age, taller than Draco, and strong. His skin was tanned and rough, and his hair was ebony, clinging to his head. He seemed was everything the weedy, white-haired boy was not.

Draco's eyes trailed down his back, a mixture of conflicting emotions raging in his head; jealousy, arousal, confusion. The water drops where clinging to the other boy's skin, trailing down his back and running over his ass cheeks.

That was the day Draco Malfoy got his first erection. He hurried away from the shower, trying not to think about Zabini. It throbbed painfully as he quickly dressed, panicked by the thought of the other boy finding him, in his unfortunate predicament.

When he got to his room, he quickly began to touch himself, clenching his eyes shut, the image of his friend scorched in his mind. He realized it was wrong, he tried to shut it out, thinking about girls or breasts, but it didn't work. He couldn't block it out.

As he orgasmed, writhing in ecstasy, he bit down on his lip, hard, stopping himself calling out the Slytherin's name.

That night, he cried, ashamed of what he had become. The years of prejudice, drilled into his mind by his father all came back to bite him. If anything, it was cruel karma. He was raised to hate anything that wasn't like him.

So he cried and cried.

He felt abnormal.

Repulsive.

Repellent.

_He thought he was a monster_

* * *

_During The War~The Dark Mark_

The day he received the dark mark was one of Draco Malfoy's most potent memories. The day of 'honour', with his fathers almost..._proud _smile. That day, Draco had an idiotic pleasure, just from the feeling that maybe, just once, he was good enough.

He shuffled into the bleak, gothic room that was his parlour, anticipation, anxiety and fear bleeding through his bloodstream. The man who sat on the black velvet chair seemed to radiate importance. He almost seemed to command people to fear him. With his sunken in, skull like visage, and cruel, calculating, merciless eyes, he was truly horrifying.

He voice was mocking, as he told Draco what he must do.

Draco's memories became uncertain and hazy after that.

He could remember the mocking laughing, the sinking feeling in his gut, and the tears in his eyes as he was branded. His skin screaming at him to stop, as it sizzled like liquid.

He spent the remaining years, hiding under his long sleeves. He was scared of his own body, scared of his own arm. It plagued his dreams,showing him the worst side of himself.

* * *

_The War Is Over, Voldemort Is Dead~Harry._

Of course, with Voldemort striking fear into his and everyone else's hearts, Draco should hardly have had enough time or peace of mind to ponder his sexuality, right? Well, though it might have been selfish, he did. Many nights he would lie awake, wondering what was wrong with him. Over the years, he did manage to lock out the homophobic morals his father had taught him, but that didn't stop him hating himself; it just distracted him enough to make him forget about it.

Then, when Harry won, Draco was torn in two directions. He was happy, because he didn't truly want that cruel man to win. Just because he had been branded, raised in the lap of luxurious prejudice, and taught to never show weakness, didn't mean he couldn't see evil personified when it smiled wickedly at him.

However, his life had been torn apart. The Malfoy name was no longer prestigious, or feared. His father was locked away, and his mother's fragile resolve, and sanity had slowly been warn away, chipped down, like the once grand furniture in their house, now cracked and broken, not unlike their lives. Draco was subjected to all the people he had treated cruelly his whole life. Subjected to their wrath, ridicule and hatred.

Not that he didn't deserve it. It was just hard to cope. He would walk outside, and be spat on as people walked past. Sneers and jeers followed him everywhere.

With his father gone, they soon lost their house. His mother went to a mental hospital, where she remained for years to come, as a fragile shell of her former self. Draco lived in a (in his words) shitty, overpriced hovel.

There he remained, the only member of the pedigree Malfoy family who still remained strong.

Well, as strong as he could be in his situation. To prevent himself breaking down like his mother, Draco simply developed several inconvenient addictions; to distract him from the poison known as his mind. Sex, drugs, alcohol, everything. Anything to shut out the world.

So, I say he was strong. I guess, it depends on your point of view.

You might think this is the end of the story now. The end of the line. Draco Malfoy continues with his boring, dull, ruined life, until he dies, regretting every bad thing he ever did.

You are wrong.

It is only starting now. The real story. The healing and saving of a monster who truly never deserved love.

This is the end, and the beginning.

* * *

**Ok, guys, I intend to change writing syle soon. Actual speech and action, instead of recaps of stuff you already know. Sorry if this chapter bored you, it should hopefully get interesting soon. Feedback is welcomed. Sorry if I am slow to update, I have lots of exams at the moment.**


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